Monday, December 08, 2014

The last few months, I have been struggling with some personal issues, that I would love to share with you but I don’t know quite how without sounding like I’m whinging.

My health has worsened. To the point where I’m teetering on the edge of a total breakdown again, this time I’m emotionally stronger. But I’m not sure how long I will be able to last.

My creative impulses are still there but I’m not making anything new, I’m not writing hardly at all, what little creativity that is created is mediocre and not worth anyone’s attention. The new blog lies unused and unappreciated, as I am unable to cope with the level of stress creating a new form for this blog would entail.

The only really worthy creation is my novel, which is right in the middle of publication. Artwork and cover colours are really the only honest-to-good creation I am able to work on, and that is in conjunction with a layout artist and my editor, so my input is minimal.

Unfortunately, I can’t share that with you, not yet, because I’m anxious that the results be seen at their finish rather than half-way through.

Its closing in to the world’s biggest, most expensive festival, Christmas. Something I personal don’t celebrate, so I’m not even doing anything for that. I have a GREAT idea for a homemade decoration that could be customised for every occasion, but even that lies stagnant inside my head as I am too exhausted to even near my sewing machine.

Sometimes, there are moments in life when health, mental and physical have to take precedence over everything else. It seems that if I could just improve a little, I would have the impetus to get back to blogging, creating and sharing the results with you all.

At the moment though, I feel stuck in a rut. As if I had fallen down a deep pit and without a huge shift I can’t get out. No matter how hard I try to pull myself out, to call for help, to see the light I can’t. I merely wear my already worn body out.

So for now, you lovely readers will have to wait it out. I have hope to be able to show you my new book in the next few months.

Monday, October 13, 2014

I do have plenty of excuses though! I’ve had numerous visits from lovely, lovely, interesting people and I will have more visits this week. Yes October is a month of visits for me and I’m enjoying the company, however that, plus the fact that I got bitten by the inspiration bug just recently and have felt the desperate need to write fantasy fiction has left me little time to write tutorials or think of recipes to share with you all.

So I apologise! I will try hard to do better.

Mrs Egeland’s News

I have been trying to start a new blog page, which will be a slightly more improved version of this one, a tad more classy. However its taking a bit more time than I imagined, basically because I haven’t gotten around to posting the tutorial I have in mind, because I haven’t gotten around to doing the tutorial I have in mind. I will eventually get around to posting it and then I will post my new web address and say goodbye to my blogspot account.

In other news, my fantasy fiction novel is going into print. As of yet we have no bookshops on board but that I will keep you informed, and as soon as its available to buy I will let you know where you can get my debut novel. For more information and a story synopsis check out Mrs Egeland’s Other Projects, which you will find in the page list on the right side.

How Do I Make It Up To You?

Jolly good question! Would you settle for a sneak peek at my debut novel? Yes? No?

Well that’s what you getting, so I hope you can forgive me!

The Trials Begin

Eventually, when their bodies complained with every fiber, they stopped footsore and exhausted camping that night below the stars in a forest clearing. They pushed themselves to build a fire, collecting wood in the clearing itself, not daring to venture too far from the others. Eyes meeting and smiles exchanged as they nervously collected what little wood they could find, all of them, eager to sleep but aware that they were surrounded by the unknown. Soon the fire blazed with heat and light, giving an atmosphere of familiarity in the dark, unknowable night, drawing the travelling companions together and strengthening the ever-strengthening bond of friendship and family that the mark seemed to bring to them. The trees were dark and haunting compared to the warm fire, and animal sounds echoed eerily in the darkness like some signal to begin the hunt of our unsuspecting campers. But of course, it was no such thing.

“To be honest,” said Agatha with a little gulp of nervousness, “I’m a little…um… uncomfortable in this forest.”

“You mean that you’re scared!” sniggered Jorden.

“What’s troubling you my lady?” asked Loreliana patiently and calmly.

“Um… wild animals… monsters… thieves… murderers… etcetera etc,” said Agatha looking over her shoulder, every word coming out faster than the last.

“My lady, you needn’t worry about that. We’ll protect you and the fire is blazing; animals might be attracted to it but we scare them more than they do us, and ‘monsters’ are usually more frightened of the light than we are of them. Thieves and murderers, well, we only have the strength of Jorden and if they can overcome him, then we shall be in trouble. But I seriously doubt that there are any thieves and murderers who would want anything to do with us, we are after all just three seemingly poor travellers,” said Loreliana, “with little or no trappings of the rich.”

“What a mouse!” whispered Jorden, but shut up when he saw Loreliana raising her eyebrow at him and rolling her eyes, her seeming disapproval sent a stab at his heart.

“So, we’ve told you about where we came from, what about you? What made you decide to start on the road?” asked Jorden quickly changing the subject.

“My father was a local physician; he knew herb lore and anatomy. One day as he was on his rounds, checking on his patients in the village he noticed a woman was following him, she seemed like a beggar or something so he took no notice. Then that night someone knocked on his door, he wondered who it could be at such a late hour but he picked up his bag and opened the door, ready to leave if it was some kind of emergency. There at the door was a man, dirty and dressed in rags, he asked my father if he could come in. My father was a bit suspicious, but he couldn’t see any weapons on the man and so he let the man in. The man was my real father, he told my father that he and his wife, my real mother, had been watching him for a few days, saw how he treated people with illness and that they thought he must be a very clever and kind man. He told my father that they were both very ill and would die very soon, but that they had a small daughter, of a little more than three years old and would he be willing to take care of me? He told them that it was a very big decision and that he wanted a day to think about taking on such a big responsibility. The man seemed to agree and left him to think it over. The next day my father wasn’t so eager to take on a child, he was quite sure he couldn’t be a good father, but it seemed my real mother and father were dying faster than they appeared because the very next morning he found me on the doorstep, wrapped up in cloth with a note, telling him about my special gift and apologising that they had to leave me like that. My father told me he was worried that he wouldn’t be able to cope but soon he fell in love with me and was glad that my real parents had left me on his doorstep.” Said Loreliana.

“Wow, that’s a much better story than mine!” said Agatha looking at Jorden.

“Or mine,” said Jorden.

They slept around the fire, and for Agatha’s sake Jorden kept watch, his sword in hand, ready to fend off anything that might strike. He sat there, alert for two hours looking in the direction of every peep, and slowly like the thief of time that it is, sleep crept upon him and stole his wakefulness. He crumbled like a well-loved teddy bear after five generations of care. He slept for mere moments but it was enough, an opportunity for a real life animal to come upon the camp, a brown bear, thin and starving. It smelled what little food they had and thought of it as an easy meal, a table set and all it needed do was sit and eat. It nosed into the camp, and its sniffling was what woke Jorden, his eyes flashed open and cried out at the bear who stood nearer him than the women, suddenly the bear swiped its heavy paw, like a glove filled with lead and threw Jorden’s body across the camp where he landed on a protruding rock. His body lay prostrated across the rock as it slowly and painfully slipped down into a crumpled heap. He waved his sword from the grassy floor with no real strength in the air, more like a call for help than any real threat. The growling and snorting of the angry bear as it stood on its back legs awoke Agatha and Loreliana from their sleep, and it thumped down from its position back on to all four legs. Loreliana screamed. Agatha jumped up and spun on the spot, facing the bear.

“A bear!” said Loreliana breathlessly, recovering from her first shock, as she began rising to her knees as slowly as possible. The bear watched as the two once lane figures rose and once more rose itself, until it was standing on its back legs, six or seven feet tall; roared once more, aggravated by its hunger and fearing this movement when it had expected none. Agatha’s hand automatically reached for the stone that hung over her heart, her life-long protector. Loreliana began to dance in front of the animal, hopping from one foot to the other doing her best to keep the bear uncertain and distract it from Jorden’s prone body as he passed out once more. The stone shone. Agatha wished in her heart that there was something more she could do, something that miraculously would automatically solve the problem and rid them of this danger. The stone shone even brighter, stronger. The more fear she felt, the stronger the light grew. She remembered her adopted father’s voice telling her how when he had found her she had screamed in anguish and that the stone had shone so bright that it almost blinded him. She realised that now, with a combination of wishing and pure terror, she might produce the same blinding light and almost with her every breath the light grew stronger, intensifying and burning till it was as strong as the light from the sun. All this took seconds to happen, and takes longer in the telling than its occurrence. Quickly the light from the stone was so bright that the bear, scared, shocked by this blinding light, turned tail and ran lumbering back into the forest and then as quickly as the light had shone it dwindled back to nothing. Agatha was frozen to the spot, blinded and shocked at the light that had come forth from the stone around her neck. Trying desperately to understand how her thoughts and feelings had produced it.

“Jorden!” cried Loreliana running to his aid, wiping the tears of fear from her eyes. She looked over his broken body, his right side bleeding from the gouged wound, that was long and thick like trenches into his flesh and he held his left side groaning in pain.

“My lady, I need your help!” cried Loreliana. She watched as Jorden bled excessively, his eyelids fluttering as he apparently slipped in and out of consciousness, she had to do something. Agatha was like a zombie, catatonic, stuck in the moment that she had frightened away the bear, filled with the fear of her own capabilities.

“AGATHA!” screamed Loreliana, in some vain attempt to return her to the present. “I need your help. Jorden is bleeding, and I need your help!” It was enough to snap her out of it. She blinked, shook her blonde head and soon was running to her aid.

“I need you to find something to use to put pressure on that wound,” said Loreliana firmly, it was the voice of experience and it held a magic tone of authority that could lead even generals. Loreliana carefully pushed on Jorden’s chest. He tensed and groaned in anguish.

“Sorry Jorden,” she said almost under her breath.

He nodded and frowned with the pain. His breath was light and his face contorted in agony at each breath.

“Jorden, do you feel sleepy at all?” asked Loreliana searching for the symptoms that would agree with her own diagnosis. His pale face nodded with a grimace. She leant her head next to his chest, listening to his beating heart and uneven breathing.

“Your ribs hurt don’t they? Tell me, got a headache?”

“No, just feel dizzy and I can hardly breathe,” replied Jorden wheezily

“All right Jorden, do you know any good folk songs?” said Loreliana in a soothing voice

“Here, what about this?” said Agatha, who after searching began ripping at her petticoats

“Perfect! My lady,” she said, her voice shaking ever so slightly. “Put pressure on the wound, cover it and press hard on it, to stop it bleeding.”

“No,” croaked Jorden, as pain from Agatha’s pressure suffused his face with pain once more.

“Sorry, but I need her to press on your wound!” said Loreliana worriedly.

“I meant, no I don’t know any songs,” he croaked painfully.

Loreliana smiled shaking her head mockingly her forced joviality covering her shaken nerves as she tried to bring tranquillity to the situation before her and said, with a “Well it’s good that I do!”

She started to sing,

In the days of the Queen of the sun,

There will be a company,

Together with one.

She will travel along the road

To the land where she belongs,

The land that calls for her aid.

She sang on, weaving melodies in the air, like an expert basket weaver. Somehow the song made Agatha and Jorden feel better. It made Agatha’s shock melt into nothing and Jorden’s physical pain ease. It was as if someone had stopped time and taken them to their mother’s lap, where she was crooning over them, tenderly stroking their heads. All of the bad feelings, even the ever constant homesickness disappeared like snow under the hot rays of the sun. She stopped singing a moment,

“Jorden, give me both of your hands,” said Loreliana quietly as if in some sanctified place.

She resumed singing, and her lilting song hovered in the air like some kind of incense, soothing the cares of the world, blanketing the clearing like a quilt. She pushed Jorden’s hand out flat with her palms and closed her eyes as she continued to sing the soothing lullaby.

“My caring angel,” he mumbled as Jorden felt his eyes grow heavier, filled with the sand of dreams and sleep invaded him, washing away the aches and pains in his injured body like hot water after a long day. He dreamt of green pasture, ripened wheat fields and heavily scented honeysuckle, of ripened orchards, of deep orange sunsets tickled with indigo clouds and the warm arms of his mother and the scent that pervaded her. He felt himself once more a child and he felt the caring hand stroke his head. He slept heavily and deeply.

“He’s strong, he’ll be well soon enough, my lady,” whispered Loreliana over Jorden’s sleeping body. “His bones will have by now knitted well enough and the wound…”

Agatha lifted the corner of the piece of cloth she had been holding over it that was tinted by the brown red stain of blood.

“Wow, its healed fast!” she gasped at the miraculous feat, removing the bloodstained pad.

“We shall have to stay here a little longer than we’d intended, my lady, but I should think he will be well enough to continue the journey the day after tomorrow,” said Loreliana still in the deep, quiet whisper that seemed to reach Agatha’s ear with ease.

“Did you do that?” asked Agatha

“Do what my lady?” asked Loreliana

“Make him heal so fast!” replied Agatha

“It is the body that heals. I merely gave some of my strength to his body, nothing more. That’s what enables the body to work harder and therefore heal faster,” said Loreliana modestly and matter-of-factly as she stifled a yawn.

“I should keep watch,” said Agatha, picking up Jorden’s sword.

“My lady, I think that you will have scared any dangerous animals off for miles around. I should imagine it is safe enough,” said Loreliana looking at Agatha’s tired face.

“Maybe you’re right, Loreliana,” said Agatha, clutching once more at the stone around her neck, she lay down near the burning embers of the fire. Loreliana, assuring herself of Jorden’s sleep, threw a few more pieces of wood on the fire, moved Jorden’s sword out of his hand and making sure it would be nearer her own position she also lay, positioning herself between the fire and Jorden, in case she needed to attend to him in the night, and they all slept undisturbed the rest of the night.

So Opinions?

So what do you think? Does it leave you wanting to read more? Please leave comments below.

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Today I was looking at StumbleUpon and I came across a blogger who had a recipe for Cocoa Smoothie, and she was lamenting the lack of letters we write these days.

She longed for the days when we communicated in a much simpler way. Before the advent of Facebook, mobile phones and emails. When you got more than bills, packages from eBay and junk mail in the post. When young lovers awaited love-letters, when mothers awaited letters from sons fighting in wars far away and letters didn’t have to mean dread or final demands.

It got me to thinking about that myself, and it inspired me to write to my mum. We both enjoy writing and receiving letters, we don’t always have the time and with Skype, sometimes there seems little point.

The Art Of The Letter

The art of the letter should be celebrated, it needs to be taught to the newer generations. We still have uses for the humble letter, quite often a good letter to a prospective employer can help you along, or a letter of query or complaint to a service provider may help you get information or even a rebate on a bill.

Letter writing skills can help write a professional looking email, so even though you may not need a “hard copy” for snail mail, you can still cultivate the art of letter writing for the 21st Century.

The beauty of a letter or even a card is that its easily available to be re-read as many times as the receiver wishes without having to search in your Inbox. I think letters can be comforting and encouraging things, and if I know of a friend that feels down I will send a card or letter to let them know they are not alone. To send some words of encouragement that will be there when I can’t be, say at 2:30 am.

Some Pointers For The Would-Be Letter Writer

Letters don’t need fancy stationary, and in fact the planer the better when it comes to a professional letter to a prospective employer, a letter requiring information or a letter of complaint.

However, with a pencil or pen you can decorate a plan piece of paper, and make a letter more of an occasion when you write to a friend or loved one.

This is my humble example of decorating a sheet of paper, ready for a hand written letter.

There are many blogs and websites where you can find tips for writing in a professional context. When I did a search I even found a website that has free cover letters. I would recommend anyone wanting to write a letter to Google “How to write a letter” and going from there.

When writing to friends or family, I’d suggest putting the place of writing and the date in the right hand corner. A letter will begin differently for different purposes, so if your writing to a family member or close friend: Dear Jenny/Dear Mum. Ending “with love”, “best wishes” or something else equally affectionate.

If your writing to someone you don’t know well about a personal matter, like an invite or something like that: Dear Mr John Doe/Dear Mrs Joanna Bloggs. Ending with “Yours Sincerely”.

Address the envelope so that the address sits in the centre, sometimes its appropriate to put a senders address on the back of the envelope. I often do, that way the reader will know who sent it before they even open the letter.

Consider Writing A Letter

Whether its to a loved one or some other kind of letter, I hope that I have inspired you to write a letter. To acquire the skill of bygone days.

I’m sure the receiver will appreciate your effort. I know a love letter is always appreciated by the receiver. So listen you lads, if you want to charm a girl, a well written letter would be a good place to start.

Monday, April 14, 2014

Dear Readers,
Elite lot that you are! I’m writing this to you because I feel that its necessary to re-introduce myself. So much in my life has changed in the 8 years since I started writing here.

So this is me. My name is Davita Egeland, I am a 32 year old, married woman. I am British, in some ways my nationality defines me. I live in Norway, but I have also lived in Spain, Sweden and Belgium. Though, really, that isn’t so unusual these days. I speak three languages, though I only write here in one.
I’ve written creatively in some capacity since I was 7 years old. Writing is my passion, my problem is hardly ever how to write but what to write about. I am quite opinionated, and lots of different things inspire me, which has made this blog rather random. Although, I think it probably reflects my random personality.

Re-Invention?

Why have I suddenly decided to re-invent this blog? I suppose, that in some ways its rather natural, I am 32 years old and I’ve been married for a few years now, things are different for me now than they were. My desires for life have matured.
At 24 years old I was still looking for adventure, and I had lots of adventures, I moved around and travelled and met lovely people.

I fell in love with Stockholm.

I ate chocolate in Belgium.

I met the Man of my Dreams.

My life was as random as my personality and I really enjoyed it. The last four years I’ve been trying to find my roots with my Norwegian husband and struggled to do that. Till the point where I had a nervous crisis and had to take a time out in the UK for a few months. What I realised while I was away, was that after 14 years of living abroad, it is time to go home.

New Mission

My new mission for my life is to work to live, instead of living to work which has so far been a complete failure. I am just not built to centre my life on a job that I’m not really interested in.
My new mission is to make writing the centre of my work life, so that I can begin to choose when I work instead of grinding away at a job that holds no pleasure for me so I can pay the bills.
My new mission is to write about my domestic life, and the creative things that help me make that domestic life. Perhaps occasionally ranting about something that has gotten under my skin. I want my blog to be a resource of building projects, art projects, sewing and knitting projects, recipes and other things; so that other people can come and read, taking away a smart idea about what they will do in their own life to make their domestic life a little more exceptional. Not that my life is particularly exceptional, rather I hope that my blog can give me the freedom to make my domestic life more exceptional.

So Another Attempt?

Yes, that’s basically what I’m trying to do with this. I’m trying to have one more go at attaining my goal of writing as a means of making a living. I’m trying to be true to the goals I set for myself. So if you can bear with me, or you would like to join me on this journey, as I try and bring a little more creativity into my life and yours. You are more than welcome to leave comments below, subscribe and follow me on Google+ and Twitter.

Monday, August 19, 2013

If you’ve read my latest posts you’ll know that of late I’ve been feeling rootless and lost. Its an intense sensation, the emotional equivalent of waiting at a bus stop trying to get home. The worst of it, just of late, is that I feel as if I’m at some sort of crossroads and I don’t know which way to turn. The thing is this isn’t a singular occurrence, I’ve felt like this before. Only then I was 25 years old, and not long afterwards I met the man I married and moved to Norway.

But even before that, what I’ve always wanted since long before I started writing this blog, was a career in writing. The trouble is there isn’t so many opportunities to write for a living. There’s journalism, not really my thing, I can be dramatic but I’ve never wanted to tell other people’s stories unless I’m personally connected to them. Then there’s writing a column, and that’s why I started this blog, as a way to write long, random pieces without any apparent connection except that I wrote it. There’s also writing a novel, which if any of you have read any of these posts at all in the last few years, you will know that I have done that and I’m still waiting to see if it will ever get published.

Hope however prevails, but still writing as a career isn’t easy. As in all creative careers its difficult to get your break and it takes a lot of patience and determination. It isn’t exactly the most financial rewarding either, most published author’s will tell you that even after they’ve managed to publish and sell their first novel they still have to continue at their day job to pay the bills. So unless you manage to be the next J.K. Rowling, a tough job for any writer, you are not going to be earning mega-bucks anytime soon. Which is why I started to work in child care and began a course to learn how to be a registered child carer. I do love working with children, but it just doesn’t take the place of writing and to be honest its far too demanding a job to be able to work in child care and write as well. One thing I have learnt in doing the course is that I love writing so much that I don’t really mind what I’m writing about, so long as I get to write. Of course the dream is that eventually all that hard work of writing a novel will pay off and I will publish and can start considering my next adventure in literature, which will eventually mean that I won’t have to have a day job and I can concentrate on my passion.

Of course everything would have been a lot easier if I’d gone down the route of further education, if I had learnt from the start how to write and what to write and possibly gotten a job in journalism at an earlier stage in my life. Then I would be able to tell publishing houses, “look at all the pieces I’ve written in the newspaper, see how good I am”, instead of “take a chance on me that I might be good enough to sell.” Instead I’m 31, almost 32 years old and I’m trying to crack into this business with a hammer.

To be honest, and apart from this blog, I’ve gotten to the point where I am losing hope. I was on the verge of just forgetting the whole thing when my darling mum spotted a website from the UK www.creative-choices.co.uk. The idea that there was a way for me to do something I love and I’m good at, that doesn’t necessarily mean I need to learn, except perhaps to improve my punctuation… hehe. It got my hopes up, unfortunately I’m not living in the UK and I can not write in Norwegian, so whether these kind of opportunities are open to me in Norway I don’t know but it gave me hope and encouragement when I needed it most. If any of you are reading this feeling the same, outside of the UK I’m sure that you will be able to find similar sites. Its just a question of looking!

Whilst I’ve been stuck at these crossroads, unsure where to go I did what anyone else would and “googled” my feelings, hoping to find some advice. I came across a webpage called Wise Bread and I tried the suggested 20 min exercise. I don’t know if it gave me anything to think about, I didn’t discover anything new, rather it magnified what I already knew about what I wanted to do with myself. I suppose for me, the most it did was make me more determined to continue on doing what I was already doing, blogging. Holding on to the hope that my novel will eventually get published and that somehow, somewhere in the next few months something is going to change and I will no longer feel lost.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

The last year has been life-changing for me, something you will know if you've been reading this blog. But I've noticed that over the past few months I've blogged less and less, and that is something that should change. I've been writing my novel for a good long while, and now I'm in the process of editing and changing what needs to be changed to hit my target audience. That's all very exciting, but it can make writing more of a chore than my passion, it all can get a little bit boring. While blogging, blogging can be fresh and exciting, interesting and always reaching out into the cosmos, metaphysically speaking of course. I've decided that you poor people haven't seen enough into my crazy and rollercoaster life, so in an effort to expand on this vision my blogs will be more varied, covering even more topics and adding that touch of excentric craziness that makes my friends love me. From looks at my favourite pin-ups over the golden age to personal opinions about topics that affect my life, book reviews and ancedotes from my day to day. If you've thought this blog was chaotic before, you haven't seen anything yet! Occasionally I may even touch on the progress of my novel for anyone that might be remotely interested. I want to open up the doorway into my world and give you a passport. Why? Because I defy anyone to have as eclectic a life or way of thinking as I do and I want to prove it. I do not own craziness, excentricity or even zaniness but I've certainly got a very large share-holding, as anyone who truly knows me will tell you. I'm like the famous chocolate egg with the surprise in the middle, no matter how bourgeois my exterior you will ALWAYS find a surprise just waiting demurely inside, no matter how long you may know me. Even my long suffering and deliriously loving parents can be surprised and astonished at my perceptions and insights. Well, I think perhaps that is enough for you to realise what I'm going to be aiming for in the next few months. Over and out!